Predictable?
by shallowdweller
Summary: "I love that you're predictable." But of course, we love the Mentalist in part because it is unpredictable. I plan to post here some implausible, unlikely, and unusual possibilities based on the previews and hints that CBS and the Mentalist let slip. Latest installment: "Repercussions"
1. Chapter 1

**Author's notes: I meant to update Need Not to Know today, but my word processing computer is very sick. This little tidbit had been in my brain though. It's supposed to be a drabble, but wound up being more of a poem. (Or maybe it's still a drabble anyway? Does a drabble have to be prose? I am really new at this.)**

**I hope those of you who were waiting for today's update will consider it a peace offering.**

**Disclaimer: this guy named Jane is based on the character of Patrick Jane, and his current circumstances, which are not my invention, not my doing, (so please don't blame me) and not in any way my livelihood.**

Predictable?

The plane rolled, ignoring his desperate pursuit.

Rose, silencing hoarse cries.

Disappeared, straining watery eyes.

Gone.

He crumpled to the pavement,

Sweat and tears dripping on the runway,

Shoulders heaving, lungs burning from exertion.

Broken,

He dragged his hollow husk

Back towards the empty shell

Where he sometimes slept.

Numb.

Until he heard it.

"Jane!"

His heart stopped, struck dumb at the apparition—

his angel flying to meet him,

Riding an Airstream at a much lower altitude than expected.

She alit beside him, green eyes atwinkle,

Handed him a hot cup of tea

And jangled his keys.

"Need a lift?"


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: While working on the latest chapter of Need Not to Know, I have been really enjoying Idan's fanfic The Pretender, in which the hints dropped on Erika Flynn's upcoming episode become fodder for some really good speculation on how that might go down. In need of a break from stresses in both RL and my primary writing commitment, I started imagining other ways things could go in the new season given the few clues that we have been given. So I thought I might use the old Drabble from just before the season finale and piggy back with more drabbles, just to post a few of them for fun. You know, when I get writer's block, or need to write something simple and diverting.**

**Not mine. No money in it.**

**Hope you like it.**

"Here, Patrick."

Lisbon brought the teacup to the couch. Vega looked on, aghast, as the consultant finally sat up, smiling gratefully. "Thank you, my dear." He took the cup, pulling her down next to him. Then he kissed her on the lips.

She blushed, but nestled closer.

Vega fumed. "I'm sorry, I thought this was FBI headquarters, not the Playboy mansion."

"Hey!" Lisbon sat up straighter, embarrassed and indignant.

"Well, Teresa, you would look charming with a bunny tail…"

"Jane!" She glared, furious.

"Now you've done it, Vega. Teresa has reverted to my surname. That always means trouble," he grinned.

**AN: In case anyone doesn't know, this was fairly recent news on the upcoming season: "The role of FBI Rookie Michelle Vega has been bumped up to series regular status. She's a rookie fresh out of the FBI academy: eager, ambitious, hungry to learn. She's never heard of Jane, knows nothing of his methods or past, and casts a skeptical eye on his unorthodox, rule-busting ways." Not sure if we really needed yet another new character with all the others so woefully unexplored, but perhaps they felt everyone else on the cast was too used to Jane's approach, and somebody had to be a character foil to point out that his crazy plans are not standard operating procedure. And hey, if Lisbon isn't doing that, she gets to enjoy her new relationship that much more.**

**That would be just fine with me! :) **

.


	3. Chapter 3

**AN: Not my circus, but I'll play with the monkeys. But I'm doing it for no pay so I must be bananas.**

"Will you help?"

"After how you treated Patrick, maybe I shouldn't."

"Please. As if you have his best interests at heart."

"Perhaps you should discuss that with Patrick. Unless you're afraid of what he might tell you."

"Why should I be afraid? I'm not the one being held In custody for espionage."

"I'm not the one asking for your help."

"Teresa, Erika, as I'm also in custody, **and** the one with the plan to help, perhaps you could include me in this discussion?"

"Shut up, Jane."

"Never mind. You two love birds enjoy your stay."

**AN: Confused? Maybe the source material will help: **

**Jane teams up with Erika Flynn in Beirut, Lebanon, where he and Lisbon have gone at the request of the CIA to take down an international weapons dealer. Erika has agreed to help Jane and the CIA in exchange for a pardon on the murder charges she's still facing and the chance to return to the U.S. But as always, Erika has agendas of her own, one of which may, or may not, be inserting herself between Jane and Lisbon.**

**Okay, so I am trying to mess with heads a little, it may take some thinking to figure out who is speaking when. And it probably isn't who you think at first. I still think Idan's version is the best speculation on this theme so far, but it was fun to cook up this little scenario.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Today I discovered yet another wonderful perk to living so close to the Canadian border. Evidently CTV is showing the Season 7 Premiere TONIGHT! I am thrilled beyond words, but also a bit anxious. Some of the things I have read about this season and this episode could be bad news if the writers are not very, very careful. To channel my own worries about potential bad artistic choices, I found myself wondering how bad it could possibly be. The following satire is the result. Not my usual style and subject matter, maybe not to my usual standards of good writing, either. Don't anyone assume I am mocking you if I exaggerate approaches that you yourself use to the point of ridiculity. This is straight out writing as therapy. It is a release, it is whistling past the graveyard, and it is meant to be taken as not-seriously as possible. Unless I can exercise the restraint necessary to not post it. **

** You have been warned.**

**Good thing I don't actually own The Mentalist. I should be assessed punitive damages for daring to use it this way.**

_Nothing But Blue Lies Do I See  
_

1.

Jane approaches Wiley at his desk, chortling over some video footage. He quickly minimizes the image when Jane's face appears above the monitor, looking down curiously.

"Hey, Jane, what are you doing here so early? You've been a late riser for a couple of weeks now. Since you came back from Mi..."

"Just wanting a talk with Fischer." Jane agressively redirects him. "Is it true she was promoted and transferred?"

"Uh, yeah, how did you hear about that? Abbott said she wanted it kept quiet."

Jane looks at him for a beat.

"Oh. Yeah." Wiley gapes, slack-jawed. Finally shakes himself and sputters, "You could try Abbott's office, they're both in early, too. By the way, where's Lisbon?"

"How would I know? Maybe she changed her mind again and flew off to DC." Jane leans in as if to whisper a confidence. "I do know that there is a kung foo fighting seminar being held in the gymnasium, though. They scheduled it early and kept it quiet so that only go-getter adrenaline junkies would attend."

Before Jane is halfway through the sentence, Wiley leaps to his feet and sprints towards the stairs. Jane shakes his head, smiling brightly as he looks around the otherwise abandoned room.

The clock reads 9:05. Where is everyone?

And what was Wiley so amused by on his computer? Why was he anxious not to let it be seen?

Jane slides into Wiley's chair and rolls it in towards the screen. He grabs the mouse and clicks on one of several closed tabs.

All over the room, computer screens blink to life.

Jane raises his eyebrows. He looks back at Wiley's screen. It shows the view from a security camera in Abbott's office. Jane notes Abbott standing at the window, his back to the camera, in his rolled-up shirtsleeves. He has on some latex gloves. Three fingers drip red as he reaches up and draws a near-circle on the window...

Jane pushes back from the desk abruptly, stumbling as he tries to gain his feet. Scanning the room again, he sees that the other screens show other security cameras in other locations around FBI Headquarters. The nearest shows the gym downstairs, where Cho is earnestly jogging on a treadmill. Until Wiley comes up behind him and hits him over the head with the butt end of a curved, serated knife of implausible length.

Jane's eyes drag him towards the image as Wiley turns, advancing towards the camera with an insane grin, and holds his knife up like a shiny new toy, running a finger lovingly down its edge. With a conspiratorial wink, he turns his head back towards Cho's inert form.

Jane turns and flees towards Abbott's office, sees the grisly face smiling blissfully at him from the window, above Abbott's high-backed chair facing away from him.

He knows what he will find in the chair. But not who. Three slow strides bring him close enough to swivel Abbott's throne to face him.

Kim Fischer's form blurs in his eyes as he rushes from the room, feet slipping on slick, warm redness. Blank screens rise up to meet him, red smiles dominating each. And as he reaches the elevator, he finds the smile again on the closed doors. His way blocked by his big leather couch, which is set up to face the elevator as if it were a huge tv screen.

His hands shake as he sets them on the arm of the couch. Wet and red. He doesn't remember falling, touching anything. The hideously tainted arms hold him up long enough to look at the couch cushions where Teresa Lisbon lies pale and quiet, as though asleep.

2.

He sits up with a start, eyes wild. Reaches back to the other side of the bed. A muffled voice protests as his hand closes on her face.

He expells a breath and flops back beside her.

"More dreams?"

He nods.

"Same kind?"

"Worse."

She sighs deeply. Rolls on her side to face him, propping her head on her hand. Eyes bleary, but alert. "Where?"

A long pause.

"The office."

She reaches towards him. Then pulls back.

"Want to talk about it?"

"No."

"You know, you don't have to go back today. I can explain things to Abbott."

"No!"

"Okay..." soothing, humoring him. It makes him angry. Which feels so much more powerful than terrified.

"We go back as planned. We tell Abbott and the others nothing. Nothing. Act as though nothing has changed between us."

He feels her incredulity across the valley between them. "You're saying...pretend that we aren't together?"

"Yes." Impatiently. "Keep our relationship a secret." He waits for her anger, preparing for a fight.

She erupts in laughter.

He stares at her, incensed. She has no clue how serious he is.

"Love, that ship has sailed," she tells him, between gasps of mirth. "There is no chance that our colleagues have not guessed what happened in Miami."

"Did you tell them?"

"You know that I've been busy. Getting your foot tended to, getting my stuff sent back here, unpacking...and stuff." Her laughter has finally subsided, but there is still a hint of amusement in her voice. "I only talked to Abbott long enough to confirm that my job was still open, get the red tape moving in the right direction, and get word that we had the green light to come back to work today." She settles back. As far as she is concerned, the crisis is over.

"If you haven't mentioned our relationship, and I certainly haven't, whatever they have guessed remains speculation."

She snorts. "You wrote a fake letter dredging up a cold case under false pretenses to keep me from going to DC."

"I'm the mischievous sort. I do things like that all the time. And nobody but you knows the real reason that I did it."

Her head turns, her expression screaming _you are so full of it! _"I dashed a full glass of water in your face when you admitted it. In front of two agents, one of them our boss."

"Cho is discreet. Abbott is wrapped around my little finger."

The look on her face is very slowly turning to alarm. "I packed up and left for the airport immediately after that without being dismissed from the case. And you spent the better part of that evening drinking, by your own admission."

"I caught the murderers, though. Did Abbott give you hassle about leaving?"

Her brow furrows. "No, but he said it was lucky for us that Fischer was being promoted and that he didn't want to replace two agents at once."

Calmly, patronizing. "He _said_ 'lucky for you' meaning you individually, not both of us." Anger flashes across her face, easily discernable as the light dawns. Her anger always did inspire him. "And would our supervising agent really have loaned me the keys to a federal vehicle if he thought that I could possibly be intoxicated?"

She sits up, now evidently wide awake, though as cranky as he would expect, without her coffee. "You declared your love for me in an airplane full of people, most of whom had smart phones."

"They were probably set to airplane mode by then."

"We had just sat down! Besides, airplane mode doesn't stop recording devices from working." She is fighting hard not to raise her voice.

He quirks an eyebrow. "Really? Technology like that is outside of my area of expertise. I'll have to ask Wiley..."

She clenches her fists and grits her teeth. He edges away from her as she says in her best Exorcist demon voice, "there is no reason to lie about what happened between us in Miami."

He tries to act nonchalant as he hastens to grab his clothes and leans against the farthest wall from the bed to pull on his pants. "Oh, good. So can I assume its now safe to completely level with Pike, then?"

Her eyes widen in shock. Then narrow in suspicion. "You. Wouldn't. Dare."

He blinks innocently. "Of course not. That's between you and Pike. But if we let it become common knowledge in the Austin office that the reason for your sudden change in career path resulted from your sudden realization that you were in love with me rather than with your fiance, how could we keep that information from filtering back to the FBI office in DC?"

She remains completely still, perched on the edge of the bed. He watches her internal debate nervously, wondering if "kick him to the curb" will win the day over "kick his $$" or if there is a remote possibility that she might see reason.

Finally, she huffs. "Fine. We'll pretend that nothing has changed. But as soon as I work up the nerve... I mean, when I figure out how to explain all this to Pike in person, then we're done with lies and sneaking around. Right?!"

"Of course," He lies smoothly. He isn't ready to explain the depths of his dread to her. He couldn't bear her scorn about its source. And when she really needs to know, that will be time enough to confide in her.


	5. Chapter 5

**I confess. I wrote this as therapy. Last week's preview had quite an impact. It makes sense, of course, that at this point in the story line the death of a major character would have a dramatic impact. Much as I dread to lose any of our team, I understand why the creators would do this. But I feel it as a loss already, even before knowing who we are losing.**

**Soon enough, we will lose all of them, anyway. Whether they ride off into the sunset, or continue their partnership at the FBI, our heroes will only exist in our memories and our imaginations. I'm glad to be sharing them with all of you, because I believe that my dear friends are in good hands here.**

**Anyway, since the number of chapters that I can add to the Predictable premise is very small, this seemed a fitting place to publish this quartet of what-ifs. I have my suspicions about which of these scenarios is most likely, and my sensibilities regarding which is most dramatically appropriate, and my personal feelings as to whose death would be most painful to me personally. **

**But they're all painful, in different ways. In living through all four of them, I am attempting to prepare myself for Wednesday night's ordeal. I make no predictions, really, other than the strong recommendation that we should all have a box of tissues handy. But my reactions to each potential story line are intense and distinct. Yours probably will be, too. I won't be offended (indeed, I will be touched and honored) if some of you choose to address your own feelings about the possible directions of the next episode in the review section for this chapter, rather than my particular interpretations/speculations about them.**

**My respects to quinnovative, for a more in depth version of one of these. If these characters were mine, I can't imagine how I could allow one to die. No money on earth could pay for that loss. So it's fortunate that I don't make any from writing about them here.**

**You should know that they are placed in order of distance from the death and funeral. Number 1 happens a week or more after, and a week or so before Abbott is supposed to transfer to Washington DC. Number 2 occurs a few days after the funeral. Number 3 is immediately after the funeral. And Number 4 is at the grave itself, as the attendees other than the team go their separate ways.**

**Repercussions**

_"To love, and to lose what we love, are equally things appointed for our nature." C. S. Lewis, Till We Have Faces_

1.

Wylie's red eyes keep returning to her empty desk. Cho's never even wander in that direction, but his face has sagged from it's usual brisk inscrutability into a weary, grim sorrow. Lisbon watches the two of them silently, uncertain what would be most comforting to either. The weight of her own grief is enough to make the attempt to approach them seem too daunting. Like diving down to touch bottom at the deepest part of the Pacific Ocean.

And Jane turns his his face to the cushions of his couch, his back to the the room. He can't be sleeping, Abbott thinks, he doesn't look nearly relaxed enough. He's just shutting out the pain. The man knows loss inside and out, in ways that Abbott doesn't even want to think about.

But thinking about his team's well-being is still his job.

She had been with them such a short time. But her eagerness to learn, to connect, to excel, quickly made her one of them. So much promise. All gone.

But it is the living that he must tend to now, and he has such a short time to do so. Cho can manage this team, Abbott knows there is no better man for the job. But this is a hell of a time to make the transition. Cho already feels the weight of responsibility for the lives of his team mates. With Vega, however, the load is heavier yet. She looked up to him, admired him. Maybe even had a slight crush on him. Not that Cho would have encouraged it in any way.

But as much as Cho tried to maintain a professional distance, Abbott knows that Vega got past his guard. Just enough to make this a personal loss.

One more glance around the room, and Abbott makes his decision. He clears his throat. "Jane, my office, please." It is his authoritative voice, softened just enough so that Jane won't drag his heels just to show that he can. He counts to ten in his head before the lump on the couch stirs. The consultant stretches, rises, and lumbers over like the walking dead. Abbott goes to his desk, burying his impatience.

When Jane is finally seated silently across from him, Abbott can see the shadows under his eyes. Not only was he not sleeping just now, he probably hasn't slept much since Vega's death. Perhaps he feels responsible. For an atheist, Jane has a strongly developed capacity for wallowing in guilt.

Abbott stifles his pity. It won't help Jane, anyway. And the others need him. He's their best chance for getting past this crisis.

"Jane, I need your opinion." That's the least of what he needs, really, but Abbott has to start somewhere. "Do you think that Cho's emotional involvement with Vega was more than professional?"

Jane blinks. His brow furrows as he considers the question. His reply, when it comes, is blunt to the point of brutality. "Are you asking me if Cho's ability to lead the team is compromised by Vega's death?"

"I am asking what he needs to help him deal with a crisis of leadership. You have known him longer. Your instincts are the best. Will it help him if I put off my transfer, or would it be better to keep things on schedule? Are there things we can do that will help him keep everything on track?"

Jane lets out a long breath, and Abbott can almost see the wheels slowly grinding into action in his head. He needed this, needed a challenge, some problem to solve to keep him from dwelling too deeply on yet another tragedy that he could not prevent. Preferably a problem that was more a matter of life than of death.

The consultant's face is like a statue slowly animating. His eyes begin to dart, unseeing, up to the right, the left, and down, as he considers the problem of team dynamics from all directions. "He needs to feel your confidence in him. Don't put off your departure." He hums, thoughtfully, as more ideas occur to him. Abbott smiles to himself. He doesn't often get to see Jane's process like this. Usually, Jane covers the workings of his brilliant mind behind a quiet watchfulness, scheming on the fly while the world moves around him.

Abbott suddenly realizes how much he will miss Jane's devious plots. Hopefully a mature leader learns a thing or two from working with such a master of manipulation. But Dennis Abbott knows that there is only one Patrick Jane. What an extraordinary privilege it has been to work with him, even for such a short time.

Jane's eyes refocus on Abbott's face, beaming a smile that would melt a heart of ice. "I've got it. Could you and your lovely wife be available for a going away party Saturday?"

Abbott hesitates. Their church was throwing a party for them that very night. "We can involve anyone you wish," Jane clarifies, obviously intuiting the source of Abbott's reluctance. "In fact, if there's already a party in the works, inviting your team members makes this plan even better. And could I invite a surprise guest or two as well?"

"You're making a call to the Rigsby's, right?" The beat of silence suddenly brings a dazzling burst of insight. "Fischer, too?!" He's beginning to understand Jane. Just in time to leave. It figures.

The blue eyes crinkle even more as the smile broadens. "You read my mind."

"Just tell me what I can do."

"Involve the whole team. To the extent that they are able. Will they let you have alcohol?"

"I'll ask. Our team can do moderation, so it shouldn't be a problem."

"Is it a potluck?"

"It could be, if you think that would help."

"Yes. Wylie doesn't cook much, but Teresa and I will bring him over to help us."

"Cho cooks?"

Jane grins slyly. "He's a man of many hidden talents."

Abbott rises, reaching for his cell phone. "Excellent. I'll start on arrangements."

"Abbott." Jane's eyes and voice arrest him mid-dial. "Thank you. We all need this."

And Dennis Abbott knows that Jane has seen through him, anticipated him, extended his reach beyond all that he expected. But what else is new?

He clears his throat, thinking of the only thing missing from this vital celebration. "A moment of silence? Or can my pastor pray in her memory?"

Jane nods soberly. "As you think best."

2.

Cho finds Vega at the shooting range, clenching her jaw as she fires round after round into the target. He quietly takes his place next to her and begins his own calm routine of target practice. He can see the very moment when she realizes that it's him. As confirmation, he notes that each shot is now an inch or two farther from the bullseye.

There is no ignoring the reasons for her distress this time. He wishes he could. It's messy. She had made her interest in him obvious from their earliest interactions. He had never before found it so difficult to maintain his distance. He had taken every pain and made every excuse to remain aloof. Had relentlessly reviewed in his mind every reason for steering clear of a emotional entanglement with a team member. Had encouraged her budding friendship with Wylie.

If she needed a personal connection to assuage her loneliness, Wylie was a far better match. Young, like her. Full of energy and excitement, the joy of life. Not a lot of personal baggage to weigh down a partner. His laid back, easy-going nature was a good balance to Vega's driven, disciplined approach to her work. And clearly Wylie was very interested.

And now Wylie is gone.

Vega doesn't stop to reload. She turns as if to leave, and Cho puts down his firearm and reaches out across the barrier, laying a firm hand on hers. "Don't leave on my account." It bothers him that she feels uncomfortable enough to end her practice early. Does she blame him?

That's even worse, somehow, than blaming himself.

"No, no," she says, shaking her head emphatically, "I really am off today. I'd better come back when I get my head together."

"If you say so." He should leave it there. Why can't he leave it there? "But if you needed to… talk. Or anything." He curses himself in his head. As if anyone who wants to talk ever comes to him. Not since Rigsby, anyway.

Usually, that's how Cho likes it.

She pauses, her eyes searching. "Really?"

Cho at once feels both pleased and unnerved that she took his offer to heart. "Of course. We both lost a team mate. Talking to each other has to be better than some shrink."

It was not what she needed to hear, evidently. She flinches away, and he winces at the intensity of her reaction. The reminder of Wylie's death must be more raw, still, than he had even guessed. "Don't bother. I've faced the death of a loved one before." Then she bites her lip, like she said more than she intended.

She loved Wylie. Well, that's no big surprise. It takes a serious effort to keep from loving the people that you work, fight, and bleed with. Cho knows all too well. He's seen men and women stronger than himself fall into it. So far, he'd managed to dodge that particular bullet.

Hadn't he?

"I'm sorry." His throat catches, clenches, like when you've had a workout and there's no water to drink. She doesn't like to show weakness. He gets that. So now, the pain on her face seems to be magnified. It's worse than when she kept begging him to take her in the field again. At least then, he knew what to do to fix it.

She is removing her safety equipment, gathering her belongings together. "Like you said, Wylie was your colleague, too. You knew him longer than I did." She stops, looks at Cho as if suddenly realizing something important. "How are _you_ holding up?"

Cho wants to shut this down. Talking about his feelings is not something he does. But he doesn't turn away. He makes an effort to keep his posture open. "It's hard. I haven't lost someone close to me for… well, more than 15 years." He absentmindedly begins unloading his weapon. "You get used to believing that you'll always be on time, never make a fatal mistake. Not when it counts. Your head knows better, knows that there are no real guarantees…"

"But your heart doesn't really believe it." She is still looking at him, eyes wide, knowing, almost glad. Cho allows himself a small smile. She understands. It's nice to feel understood.

Maybe that's how she feels, too. She reaches out, cautiously, almost as if she's afraid he'll push her away. But he holds his breath as she takes his hand, and just holds on to it.

The bittersweet moment holds him in a tighter grip. This young woman, so much like him, and yet so other, still wants to know him. She loved Wylie. How does she feel about him? Is it right that he really needs to know?

"Maybe I'm the one who needs to talk."

She smiles warmly, and it almost reaches the desolation of her eyes. "I'd like that." Her mouth quirks wryly as she releases him. "I'm sure I would be better than some shrink."

3.

She clutches the folded flag to her chest tightly, like a lifeline, as she enters the bullpen. Her face is quiet and still, but Jane knows that she has cried herself out. He comforts himself that she knew what it meant, having a spouse in law enforcement. She has a purpose to keep her going, a mission and enough ambition to engage her focus and help her work through the absence of her beloved partner.

"Mrs. Abbott." He had purposely left the funeral early, hoping not to face her. He had a better idea than most of the kind of pain she must be in, but he had no answers, no balm to soothe that aching void.

"Lena." She lifts her chin, meets his eyes almost defiantly. "They told me you had come back here, Patrick. It's hard, I know, after your history… but please be patient with me. This is very important to me. I hate to play the 'what he would have wanted' card, but…"

Patrick spreads his hands helplessly. "Whatever you need, whatever will help you. I wish I could…" His voice drifts off into silence. The only thing that would make this better is beyond his power. Beyond any power he knows of. He would tear out his own heart if it could bring her husband back. But if that were possible, it would have been used years ago to restore Angela and Charlotte.

"Thank you. Dennis was right to trust you. And we both owe you so much already." For a moment she has to pause and collect herself. Patrick looks away, unable to meet her pleading eyes.

She rocks slightly as she speaks, as if lulling an infant to sleep. "I can't keep this. We had no children. His brothers… well, the ones that were on speaking terms wouldn't understand…" As she speaks, he reaches out and sets his hands gently on the flag. He meets her eyes and sees how hard it is for her to explain this.

So he lifts the soft, august weight, pulling it away from her. "In DC, there will be flags everywhere. You don't need to associate them all with Dennis' death. He was brave, but the road you walk now will require even more courage." He wonders if he could have done it. Committed his life to building something, rather than to seeking vengeance, in the wake of his bereavement. He doubts it. He had to borrow strength from others even for the destructive path he chose.

She nods, her face flooded with relief. "You don't know what this means to me. And Dennis… he was so proud of what he built here. What you helped him build. He… he loved you, you know. All of you. He would be glad that it was him, not some other member of his team."

Her face crumples, and he gathers her into his arms, tears falling into her dark hair.

He feels eyes on them. Teresa, he suspects. But he waits patiently for Lena to pull away. Her need matters most in this moment. Teresa would understand.

"I'll keep it somewhere safe. In case you ever want it back."

She smiles. Grasps his hand firmly in both of hers. Touches her wet cheek to his with a whisper of a kiss and a final thanks.

Then she turns briskly and walks towards the elevator, the click of her heels echoing in the empty hall.

4.

Jane and Lisbon cling to one another. At any given moment, it is uncertain who is comforting whom. Whose sobs are shaking both bodies.

Wylie nudges Abbott. "When did…"

"Ages ago." Abbott's gruff voice breaks slightly. He clutches his wife's hand. He blinks too rapidly.

"While they were still at the CBI, we believe." Abbott's wife speaks for him. "But it probably wasn't acknowledged until the trip to Miami."

Vega's voice is hesitant, thick with tears of her own. "Should we…"

"No…" Abbott looks around at the dispersing crowd. "I don't think we can do much for them right now. I wish the Rigsbys could have made it on time for the funeral. If anyone could help them…Wayne told me they'd be in later this evening."

"Are they bringing the children this time?" The hand holding his squeezes tighter as she speaks.

"Yes," Abbott tells her. "They need family right now. They lost a brother."

Wylie looks at Vega's tear streaked face, and clears his throat. "Do you know who has the team now? When you both move to Washington, I mean?"

Abbott opens his mouth, then closes it, his jaw working furiously, his eyes strangely bright.

Lena comes to his rescue. "It's too soon to make that decision. Lisbon could do it, but… well, this will be hard on her anyway, without adding more responsibilities and an increased workload. Not to mention that she has only been working with the FBI for a year. Red tape is bound to make it even more difficult than it would be anyway." She puts her arm around her husband. "Come to think of it, I don't know how Dennis will handle shifting locations in the middle of this, either. If it would help him, help the rest of you, I could manage without him a while in DC. Just while I'm getting settled."

"No." His voice is hoarse, but emphatic. "I need you to get through this. And you don't need the distraction of wondering how I'm managing here."

"There's still some time to work through all that," she croons, stroking his face as she rests her head against his. Wylie and Vega avert their eyes from the unguarded moment, until a keening cry draws their focus to the formerly quiet mourning of the pair at the graveside.

The four of them watch mutely from a distance as Jane and Lisbon sink onto the freshly turned Earth next to the headstone, heedless of their good clothes. With voices raised in profound wordless lamentation, they sway together in an embrace like a vise, as if wrestling. Or dancing on their knees. Or praying.

Even Cho couldn't have kept a dry eye, if he were here. Abbott finally lets go, as Lena's arms encircle him soothingly. Wylie hears Vega stifle a sob, and awkwardly pats her back. She leans in.

The rain begins to fall.


End file.
